


The True Place for a Just Man

by Miri1984



Series: The Blight and How It Mucked Us Up [2]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 22:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"What's your name boy?"</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Capture

**Author's Note:**

> "What's your name boy?"

"What's your name boy?"

His mother moves to answer, but something snaps in him and he gets in first. "Anders," he says. One of the Templars sniggers, and he hears his mother protesting, but it's too late for any of that. It was too late the moment the first fingers of flame started in the straw of the barn. The name is accurate enough. His mother calls him pet names, like "sweetheart" or "darling", and he groans and tells her he has a proper name while inside he feels special and loved. His father more often than not "boy." His given name has never had much meaning for him, and it's easy to give the name the boys in the village use for him.

The boy he used to be, the one who had a mother and a father and a home that wasn't populated by tinsuited monsters, that boy isn't him any more.

"All right then, my little Anders," the Templar says. "Let's be off." He's vaguely aware of his mother sobbing as she passes a package to one of the men, his father standing stoic and unmoving at the door. He hopes to Andraste he imagines the clink of coins as he is led from the house. Instead he focuses on the sound of his mother's tears. _They_ at least, are genuine.

One thing is absolutely clear from the get go: chains are not meant to be comfortable. He's been crying, and he wants to wipe his face and his nose, try to regain some semblance of dignity considering one of the Templars is periodically laughing and jeering at him, but with his arms bound behind him he can't even scratch his nose, and struggling to do so would undoubtably unbalance him. Even though he's sitting wedged between the Templar and the horse's neck he's terrified of falling. It's a long, long way down to the ground.

When they stop for the night the Templar whose horse he'd been sharing is surprisingly gentle, taking him down and allowing him some time to relieve himself, unlocking the chains but standing directly behind him, making it clear that no escape attempt will be tolerated. As he finishes, however, the other Templar comes up behind the first, and there's a sneer in his voice, along with something else that makes Anders shudder, as he speaks.

"How old do you think this one is?" he says.

"Get back to camp, William," the kind Templar, as Anders has come to think of him, says. His voice is hard, however.

"You're a soft touch, Harley," William says. Anders buttons his clothing and turns around, surprised to find his hands shaking as he holds them out to Harley to be manacled again. William hasn't moved. He is looking at Anders, a small smile on thin lips, and Anders shrinks back from the wrongness in his gaze.

The trip takes forever. He doesn't know if it's because he's terrified of what will come next, or terrified of William, who continues to look at him as though he is a piece of meat to be devoured, or simply because he wants to be at _home._ He'd even be glad to see his father's face, now.

When they reach the lake, the kind Templar hands him the package his mother had been allowed to put together for him. Anders had seen it, among the gear, and had ached for it the entire journey. He didn't know what was in it, only that it was from her - the only person who seemed to care that he was being taken away.

"Don't open it until you've got your bunk," the Templar whispers to him. "And don't let the others see it. It's for you, you don't want to lose it." Anders bites his lip and nods. He doesn't like Harley - it would be impossible to like the man who has spent the last few days dragging him from his home, but he knows, obscurely, that this man had stood between him and something even more terrible, and he is grateful.

They remove the manacles just inside the enormous double doors. They close, and Anders can tell there is more to them than just wood and metal, in that way he has. A tall man in robes is standing there, and despite everything, Anders feels a small surge of excitement. He's a _mage._ An _official_ mage, one who is …allowed, and he is _like Anders._ One day, _he'll_ wear robes like that, have a staff to help him cast spells. One day he'll be able to do magic and people won't be surprised at it, won't yell at him for it. People will _ask_ him to do magic.

"Just the one today, William?" the man asks. He's old. Older than Anders' father. He has dark skin and a black beard and deep brown eyes.

"Yes, Senior Enchanter," William says. "Feisty though. I'd watch him."

The man's face clouds for a minute and he glances at Harley. Anders knows they don't think he notices, but Harley shakes his head minutely, and the mage's face relaxes in something like relief.

"What's your name, child?" the mage asks, as Harley and William turn to leave.

"Anders," he says.

The mage lifts an eyebrow. "Well then. Mine's Torrin. It's nice to meet you. I'll take you to the apprentice quarters and get you settled in."

Anders is silent. The tower had looked huge from the boat on the lake, and the inside is just as confusing as the outside. Twisting corridors, doors that lead into rooms full of books and softly speaking people, but the thing that he notices the most is the Templars. They are everywhere. At the door of every room, clanking in their heavy boots down the corridors, their blank helmets making them seem like metal demons. He shrinks back when one brushes past him, the cold of the metal on the breastplate making him shiver. He doesn't like the sword they all wear, wreathed in flames the way it is. It makes him think of death, and the fire in the barn.

He clutches the packet to his chest and follows Torrin. When they reach the dormitory, Anders is shocked to see it full of children. He hadn't heard them. Why weren't they shouting? Playing? He's never seen children like this before.

They are a mix of ages, none younger than six or so, but a few a couple of years older than he. It's to one of these that Torrin waves, calling him over. A dark haired boy, probably about sixteen.

"Karl - you're the eldest here, this is Anders. Set him up with a bunk and some clothes will you?"

The boy raises an eyebrow insolently and crosses his arms. "Why me?"

"Just do it, Karl. No complaining."

The boy sighs and rolls his eyes, and Senior Enchanter Torrin nods and leaves. Once the older man has left, however, Karl smiles at Anders with genuine kindness and the fear that had gripped him lessens a little.

"Don't worry about Torrin," Karl says. "He's a prig. I just do it to get on his nerves."

Anders laughs a little at that, the first time he's laughed since before the fire, and he's surprised at how good it feels. Karl nods and grins, obviously seeing something promising in Anders, and claps him on the shoulder.

"Is that something from your parents?" he says, eyeing the package in Anders' hands.

He clutches it tighter. "From my mother," he says softly.

"Hide it," Karl says. "Under your mattress. Open it tonight when it's dark and the Biffs can't see properly in their stupid helmets. They'll take it from you if they see it."

"Why?" he says.

Karl shrugs, sounding bitter. "It's what they do," he says, and any good feelings Anders had are suddenly gone.

Karl is kindly, and has a sharp sense of humour that makes Anders smile again, although he doesn't feel close to laughter any more. He finds Anders a bunk, near the back of the room, close to the corner. "Corner bunks are best," he says, "The Biffs can't see you that well when you're in one of those, and Varel's close to his Harrowing. If you're lucky you'll be able to get his when he goes. Just make sure you keep an eye out first thing in the morning. If his stuff's gone, grab it."

"Harrowing?"

Karl shook his head minutely. "You'll see. Just watch for it." Anders' bunk is a few over from the corner, at the back of the room, on the bottom. "Used to be top bunks were better, but things are different these days. Now that William's a catcher instead of a watcher."

"You know William?"

Karl's gaze darkens at that. "Did he bring you in?" he asks, and the question is gentle.

"Yes. Him and Harley."

"They've assigned Harley with him?" He raises an eyebrow, then nods grimly. "Good," he says, but doesn't explain, just goes to a set of cupboards at the back of the room and piles up Anders with blankets and pillows and a bundle of clothing. "These will probably be a bit big for a while, but you'll grow into them," Karl says. "Kids are usually younger than you when they come in. Were you an apostate?"

"A what?"

"A free mage. Did your parents try to hide you?"

He shook his head, biting his lips, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening again. "No," he said. "They didn't." He's intrigued by Karl's words. _"Are_ there free mages?"

Karl looks at him. "If you can call it that," he says. "Here. Put your packet under the mattress. Make up your bed and come find me. You're lucky you came in before dinner, they don't bother to feed the new ones if they come late. Hurry up."

That night, he reaches under his mattress to find the packet and opens it, worrying the string with his fingers. The knots have gotten so tight, in their journey, that it takes a while for him to get it off. He unwraps the cloth to find his pillow - the one his mother made for him when he was just a baby, back when she had time to do things like embroider: before the farm, before the brothers and sisters who never came, before his father stopped smiling and fell silent and hard. He clutches it to his face and breathes in the lingering scent of her, tears squeezing out of his eyes. He is still clutching it in his arms when he wakes the next morning.


	2. Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boy can't be more than eight, and he's crying for his mother. Anders feels his own loss keenly, but this boy is younger, and obviously was loved by both of his parents, for he calls for mama and papa and not just mama the way Anders did in his sleep. He keeps his head down, though, he doesn't want to get the duty that Karl got with him. It's only been a couple of weeks, any way. He's relieved when Jowan is assigned to him - Jowan is a year or two younger than Anders but he's been here since he was six and knows the ropes better than most. He's a nice person, Jowan, but Anders hasn't really made any friends apart from Karl, and he can't exactly call Karl a friend. He suspects the older boy thinks he's a nuisance and is only kind out of pity, and that makes Anders angry. Not with Karl, with himself.

The boy can't be more than eight, and he's crying for his mother. Anders feels his own loss keenly, but this boy is younger, and obviously was loved by both of his parents, for he calls for mama and papa and not just mama the way Anders did in his sleep. He keeps his head down, though, he doesn't want to get the duty that Karl got with him. It's only been a couple of weeks, any way. He's relieved when Jowan is assigned to him - Jowan is a year or two younger than Anders but he's been here since he was six and knows the ropes better than most. He's a nice person, Jowan, but Anders hasn't really made any friends apart from Karl, and he can't exactly call Karl a friend. He suspects the older boy thinks he's a nuisance and is only kind out of pity, and that makes Anders angry. Not with Karl, with himself.

"There are always more elves," Anders says to Karl.

"Elves are better at magic," Karl says. "Something in the blood, they say. You'll notice it in class, once you're past the rank amateur stage you're in now."

Anders makes a face at Karl. He's sensitive about not doing well at the moment. The fire in the barn had seemed so _easy_ but here he can't seem to magic the smallest spark. The teachers seem, strangely enough, _pleased_ about this. He's heard mutters of "he'll be easier to control" and "probably won't pass the Harrowing, that'll make the Templars happy," and on one occasion "he was brought in so late, what do you expect?" The only class he sees to be doing well in is Healing, which earns him some sneers from the other boys. It's a _girl's_ talent, apparently. But he can't stop himself from feeling proud of the green and blue light he can conjure there, even if it isn't blowing anything up or freezing it.

Karl notices his expression and elbows him. "Don't worry," he says. "It takes time to learn. Don't listen to what they say."

"How old were you when you came?" Anders asks. He's been wanting to, since that first night, but something about the expressions on the faces of the apprentices stops him from asking personal questions. There's a careful blankness whenever something from the past is mentioned. If someone says the food reminds them of home, or mentions a favourite game they used to play outside, there is always an awkward silence.

"Seven," Karl says. There is finality in the tone, however, and Anders knows he will get no more information from him. That he responded at all was a sign of trust.

The boy's name is Alim Surana, and he quickly shows himself to be one of the most talented mages the circle has ever seen. The teachers all talk about him when they think no one is listening, and the Templars show extra vigilance whenever he is around, as though he's some sort of walking shock bomb, which Anders supposes he is, in a way. Jowan and he have become fast friends, although it quickly becomes obvious who the leader out of the two of them is, despite Jowan's greater age. Alim is quick and sneaky and constantly getting the two of them into trouble, but it's a cheeky, lovable kind of trouble that earns them cuffs on the back of the head rather than extra duties. Alim has a smile that melts the heart of the hardest Templars.

There are also rumours that Irving has personally said if any harm comes to the boy before his Harrowing there will be a reckoning.

Anders decides it would be a good idea to keep out of the new protege's way. He _does_ find out that of all the schools of magic, Alim is rubbish at creation, which makes him a little bit smug. There is little doubt, now, that Anders' talent lies very firmly in the healing arts. His teachers have gone from being exasperated at his lack of ability in primal and entropy, to sanguine. "At least he can heal. He'll get a good place outside the tower if he's careful."

That phrase lodges in his mind like a fish hook. _Outside the tower._ He's been inside for three months, the longest time ever. Granted, it's the middle of winter and the lake is frozen over, but he _aches_ to feel wind on his face that wasn't shunted through a narrow window. He's heard rumours that the Templars take apprentices out for exercises when the weather is fine. He clings to that rumour with all his heart.

On his way back to the dormitories after dinner that night on his own, he hears the unmistakable mewling of a cat. Curious and excited, he follows the sound. Cats are nice. They had many, on the farm. Mice were a problem - they ate the grain and shat in the house and his mother always had a few mousers about. She was kind hearted too, and let the older cats retire to the house, once they'd slowed down and were less than useful as workers. His father grumbled about it, but hadn't ever gotten rid of them the way he threatened, and Anders had loved to play with them.

This cat is scraping at the door of a room - one of the senior enchanter's rooms he thinks, although he's still not entirely sure of the layout of the Tower. There is templar outside who snarls at the animal and Anders recognises his voice as that of Ser Warrick, one of the templars the older boys avoid if possible, then kicks it, hard. Anders can _hear_ the bone break. The pathetic mewl that emerges tears at him and he wants so badly to yell at the man that he shakes, but he's heard enough about Warrick to know that any confrontation with the man will undoubtably end in kicks aimed at Anders as well, so he dips out of sight until Warrick tramps away, then creeps out to find the animal lying in a corner, still mewling, but more weakly now.

Anders' heart twists. How someone could be so cruel as to kick something wearing metal boots like that he doesn't know. He gathers the animal in his arms as gently as he can. Even so, it scratches him, as animals do, big red welts open on his arms and his robes are undoubtably ruined, but he can't risk sedating it until he's back in the apprentice quarters. A few healing spells later and the cat is sitting on his bunk, licking his fur. Anders touches his lips to find a smile there, before he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps, expecting Ser Warrick or another Templar, ready to lecture him about reckless use of magic, but turns to see a grey haired senior enchanter instead. She has kind blue eyes and a gentle voice.

"They said you were talented," she smiles at him. "I didn't realise how much."

His grin is genuine in its delight. It's the first _direct_ praise anyone has given him about his magic.

"Thank you," he says.

"I think you've made a friend, too," she says, eyeing the cat, which has stood up and is butting against Anders leg and purring. "Might want to save him some fish scraps from dinner tomorrow."

Anders leans down and buries his hand in the soft fur. It's a young cat, not fully grown, tiny and vulnerable. He feels a fierce need to protect it. The Enchanter notices his action and smiles. "You should name him."

Anders is terrible at names.

The cat starts to follow him around the keep. Finally another apprentice dubs him "Mr Wiggums" and Anders is embarrassed by it, but it sticks and the cat won't answer to anything else. Not even Ser Pounce A Lot, which is the name he finally comes up with. He vows he'll call the next cat who adopts him that, although the other tower cats avoid Wiggums. The cat has a nasty temper and a tendency to swipe at people who try to pet it.

He likes to ride on Anders' shoulder and after a while the Enchanters and Templars stop telling him to leave the damn animal behind, since every time he tries it just shows up any way, usually biting and scratching people on the way. Wiggums sleeps in a fur ball on the end of his bed and Anders feels, for the first time since getting to the Tower, relatively safe.

It's a good feeling.


	3. One Kind of Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Flora. Flora. Flora's a girls name."

"Flora. Flora. Flora's a girls name."

The boy is on the brink of tears. Anders tries to ignore it, it's not an uncommon sight in the tower, after all, but usually the tears are for other reasons. Apprentices don't tease each other. There's too much danger in that, not just from the Templars, but from each other. These are exceptional circumstances, however.

Florian had come to the circle escorted by his _parents_ who were tearful and loving as they let him go. Anders couldn't deny the first time he'd seen him teased he'd felt a warm stab of satisfaction in his belly. _Let_ him be miserable. When Florian wrote letters to his parents, his parents could read them. When Florian wrote letters to his parents his parents _wrote back._

But the younger children have been doing this for weeks now and Anders can't help but see echoes of his own childhood back in the village, teased for his mother's accent, his too-blond hair.

"Anders, Anders, Anders…"

He dealt with it by adopting the name. There were worse things to be called, after all. He could think of five or ten right off the bat that would make Florian cry more quickly than "Flora."

He walks up to the group. He's tall, even though he's only just fourteen, and the other mages like him because he talks back in class and isn't afraid of the Templars (oh, but he _is,_ inside he can still feel the clamp of the irons on his wrists, still see the gleam of predatory hunger in the eyes of Ser William), and they fall silent at his approach.

"Finn," he says, clapping his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. "You said you needed help in the library?"

The boy looks up at him, big eyes welling with moisture. Anders fully expects this to be something he regrets, but he is impressed when the boy gathers himself and stands straighter. "Thank you," he says. The other boys have fallen silent. If Anders is Flora's friend, they'll have to be careful. Anders isn't mean, but he is respected. It didn't do to pick on someone who he is friends with. Not if you wanted to be popular.

Finn follows him around after the nickname incident. That's all right, though, because he's clever. Sometimes Anders gets him to do research for him. The boy _loves_ the library, and it gives Anders more time to explore.

But he doesn't do it often, because he likes the library too. Karl helps him with his papers sometimes, and the other apprentices seem to relax more there, as though it's a place of sanctuary.

Today he's meant to be studying entropy. He's gotten better at it, these days, better at all the spells in the other trees, although creation is still his best. Entropy bothers him, though, because it's as though all the healing spells he's learned are reversed, somehow - wrong. Still, he needs to find a particular book, which doesn't seem to be on the shelves, so he goes to the enchanter librarian who checks who was the last to have it.

"Enchanter Marian," she says, smiling at him. "She must have been using it for her next set of classes."

Anders frowns. He really needs the book if he wants to finish the paper on time. Radley isn't tolerant of apprentices who don't finish their assignments, and he's not keen on doing another stint of pot scrubbing if this is late. He puts on his most charming smile and watches the enchanter behind the desk melt. This is a talent he's only just discovered. It works better on the older, female enchanters, and even some of the Templars. He's learned that if he cocks his head _just so_ and lifts his eyebrows slightly he can convince them to let him do pretty much anything. "I can write you a pass to go and ask for it if you really need it," she says. "The mage quarters are out of bounds at this time of day but if you show this to Hubert at the door he'll take you to her room."

"Thank you, enchanter!" he says brightly, and watches as she writes out the slip.

Hubert grumbles, but opens the door when he sees the enchanter's signature and follows as Anders gets to the right door. Marian is one of the senior enchanters. She has her _own_ room. Anders is jealous. Privacy is a long lost luxury that he's beginning to pine for as he gets older.

He opens the door and goes inside. The room is tiny - but there is a bed and a desk and a chair. It's impersonal, nothing in it to show that it belonged to anyone in particular. But Anders doesn't go to the desk where he's sure the book will be. His feet are rooted to the spot.

The first thing he notices is that the chair is knocked over on the floor, the second, that the bed is stripped of its linen. The third makes his throat choke up and his eyes bulge, even as Hubert curses and shoves him out of the way.

A minute later… maybe ten, Anders is sitting outside the room with his arms wrapped around his knees. Hubert has forgotten about him, or maybe he's too busy with the… the thing in the room to care what an apprentice mage might be thinking. He can't shut his eyes, because every time he does he sees enchanter Marian, swinging back and forth slightly like some… rag doll from the beams in the roof of the room.

 _How did she get the linen up that high?_ he wonders, then snorts an hysterical laugh. _What use is telekenisis if you can't use it to kill yourself?_

He doesn't understand why she didn't use magic for all of it, at first. Because truly, magic would have been the easiest way to do it. Anders knows he could, if he wanted to, stop his own heart. _Why would she want to? Why would anyone ever want to? Did she really do it to herself? Maybe one of the Templars…_ but no. The Templars didn't need to string mages up to kill them. A sword through the chest worked fine, and no one would question that. That was _their job._

He wipes at his eyes, which are pouring tears that he couldn't control if he tried. Hubert comes out of the room and sees him, sitting. "By all that's holy, boy, what are you still doing here?" he says. "I asked you to get the Knight Commander."

"I'm sorry, ser…I… I can't get up ser…"

Hubert kneels in front of Anders, looking at him critically, then snorts. "First one for you then," he says, sounding resigned. "Never mind, boy. I'll fetch one of the other apprentices to get you." He stands up, ready to leave, but Anders is suddenly terrified.

"No, please, don't leave me here, ser!" He manages to scramble to his feet. Hubert raises an eyebrow, but nods and waits for Anders to catch up. Anders trails behind the Templar back towards the main hall, trembling uncontrollably the whole way. When they're back he hears someone calling his name and Finn is there, tugging on his arm.

"Anders, what's wrong?"

He looks down at the big eyes, several things clicking into place at once. He could tell Finn what he just saw. Finn would probably write to his parents about it. Finn's parents would be horrified and they would come to the Tower and _demand_ that he be allowed to go home with them…. and then it would get out, exactly what happened in the Tower and everyone would feel sorry for them and good King Maric would come and….

" _First one for you then,"_ Hubert had said.

"Nothing, Finn," Anders says shortly, and turns back towards the library. If he's lucky he can find another book to help him finish the paper. It won't be as good, but he finds he doesn't really care.


	4. Harrowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders is fifteen when Karl disappears. He is in the library, waiting for him, for over an hour. They were meant to work on his fire spells.

Anders is fifteen when Karl disappears. He is in the library, waiting for him, for over an hour. They were meant to work on his fire spells.

Anders has trouble with fire spells. More trouble than any other spell. Lightning and Ice and Entropy all come almost as easily as healing to him now; his destructive force is on a par with the most experienced apprentices. Only some of the elves do better - Alim Surana, of course, and Margaret Amell, who he's overheard has the potential to reduce the entire library to ashes with one wave of her hand. With Alim it's a cause for praise. With Margaret, suspicion. She's a bewitching thing - a couple of years younger than he, usually closeted with Alim and Jowan instigating trouble. Big green eyes and deeply dark hair. But where Alim is charming and open, Margaret is sly and sarcastic. Where Alim can get away with bending rules, Margaret more often than not is stuck on pot scrubbing duty, or something worse. Anders feels sorry for her.

But today, he is meant to be meeting Karl, and Karl hasn't shown. He knows, in the back of his head, what that means. He's seen enough of the older apprentices disappear, heard enough from the older mages.

Karl's gone for his Harrowing. Which means he's a full mage now, or…

…he's dead.

There's an unspoken rule, among the apprentices, that you don't talk about someone who's gone to their Harrowing. Not until it's known for _certain_ what's happened to them. If they don't acknowledge that the person is missing, there's a chance they can believe he's just been transferred to another circle, or passed his Harrowing and is too proud to come downstairs to visit - or the Templars don't want them associating with the apprentices any more (this is true enough, anyway - the only full mages Anders gets to see are the ones who teach his classes and they leave as soon as their lessons are done).

But the news always filters down eventually. Some of the Biffs are friendly - or stupid. Hubert is an arsehole, but he's an honest one, and if you get him on a good day he'll let you know if your best friend is alive or dead. Some of the older templars will answer your questions, or if you can snag a tranquil they will always give you the information you want, not having imagination enough to lie.

Not many people have the stomach to talk to the tranquil, however. Although this time, Anders thinks he might try.

Marchon will tell you, if you can stomach being in the same room with him for more than a few seconds alone, which is something Karl has told Anders to never, ever do. There's a reason he's always paired with another Templar. The man takes delight in describing the failed Harrowings he has attended, although he's very careful never to go into detail about what the ritual actually entails.

There's a rumour that Greagoir is going to reassign Marchon, but it never actually happens. As it is he's forbidden in the apprentice quarters. Niall told him that Marchon was related to the Arl of Denerim - a younger son, or a bastard who was palmed off to the Templars to keep him out of trouble. Anders realises it may well be his job to warn any new apprentices about him, if Karl is really gone.

He chokes a little on that thought.

"Anders, what are you doing here?" He turns to see Maggie Amell, books clutched in her arms, big green eyes blinking at him over the leather covers. She's so pretty, Maggie, and Anders wants to give her his best smirk, but worry over Karl has him distracted.

"Karl's gone," he blurts out. Maggie's eyes narrow and she looks troubled, but the unspoken rule stands between them and she bites her lip on whatever she was going to say.

"Here," she says finally, shoving her books at him. He holds up his hands to avoid taking them, stepping back a little, and she sighs in exasperation. "Enchanter Leorah tells me I have to improve my healing. You're the best in our class, help me."

He frowns at her. "Why should I help you?" he says.

She looks angry. "Jowan says you're going to fail primal unless you learn how to cast a proper fireball. Help me with healing and I'll help you with fire."

He folds his arms. "What does it matter any way?" he says, smiling a little bit now. "It's not as though they're going to _kick me out_ or anything."

Her eyes shift to the corner of the room and Anders follows her gaze to see Owain, sorting and shelving books. Methodically. The shining red of the brand on his forehead catches the light briefly, and Anders' shudders, smile fading, heart constricting.

Harrowings are all well and good, but you have to be good enough to get to one. Tranquility isn't likely for Anders, not really. He's too good at healing, and healing is the marketable skill, the _safe_ skill. But Maggie… Maggie is more dangerous. Without someone like Irving backing her, like he's backing Alim, she could be in a lot of trouble in a few years. The thought of those green, lively eyes going blank makes him catch his breath a little in fear and he reaches out a tentative hand to take the book she's holding. "Fine," he says, forcing his voice rough. "But you better be able to teach me to do a proper fireball."

She grins, suddenly sunny, and he realises he _likes_ her, almost as much as he likes Karl. When they're sitting next to each other a bit later, he feels her small hand on his arm and a gentle squeeze.

" _He'll be ok,"_ she says under her breath.

He suspects, then, that Maggie likes him too.

He gets word from Hubert a week later that Karl passed his Harrowing and is teaching some of the younger mages - the fives and sixes. Anders never quite manages to cross paths with him. It makes him sad. He begins looking for ways to sneak around the Tower. He doesn't admit it, but he's looking for two things - a way to get up to the mage quarters that the Templars won't notice…

…and a way out. Karl going for his Harrowing has brought it home to him that in a very few years he could be facing his own death.

He doesn't want to die. He wakes in cold sweat some nights, remembering Enchanter Marian. Since he found her there have been three more suicides, one of them an apprentice.

His explorations get him into trouble. Templars drag him to the senior Enchanters every second or third day and he ends up with extra duties. More often than not when he makes his way to the kitchens after meals for pot scrubbing duty Maggie is there with him. Her transgressions are more imaginative than his - icing the stairs just before Templars are about to go down them is a personal favourite of hers. Although she's helping him with his fire spells, it's her ice magic that is exceptional.

One night, nearly a year after Karl has disappeared, they finish the last big, smelly pot and Anders manages to press her up against the kitchen sink and kiss her, to find out that despite being two years younger than him she's _definitely_ been practicing with something other than her hand. When he raises his head, breathless and red-faced and clumsy, she's grinning an evil grin at him that makes him laugh.

A metal hand descends on his shoulder shortly afterwards and he's spun around to face Ser Maron, who cuffs him as Maggie runs off and gives him two more nights pot scrubbing duty.

News gets around and he's always alone on extra duties after that. Anders chalks it up as another thing the Templars need to pay for.


	5. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karl is a lot shorter than he remembered. But it's been two years since his Harrowing, and Anders supposes it's more because he's been growing rather than Karl shrinking. He has a rough covering of stubble on his cheeks that Anders itches to touch. Karl is rather dashing, with those blue eyes under the unruly mop of black hair, he looks like some sort of pirate.

Karl is a lot shorter than he remembered. But it's been two years since his Harrowing, and Anders supposes it's more because he's been growing rather than Karl shrinking. He has a rough covering of stubble on his cheeks that Anders itches to touch. Karl is rather dashing, with those blue eyes under the unruly mop of black hair, he looks like some sort of pirate.

"Anders!" Karl also seems happy to see him. "It's been a while."

"I didn't know where you'd gone," Anders says, and curses, because it sounds lame and young and stupid, all the things he never wants to sound in front of Karl. "I mean… I tried to find you a couple of times, but they never let us up into the mage quarters."

"I know. They don't let us down here, either, unless we're teaching. I'm sorry, I would have got a note to you, but you'd been moved too and I didn't know which of the Biffs on my level to trust yet."

The library is quiet. Anders had been meaning to meet Maggie here - but it wouldn't be the first time she stood him up. Perhaps he should stand _her_ up instead?

"Let's get out of here and talk somewhere," Karl says then, grinning, and Anders nods.

They run from room to room, Anders showing Karl all the tricks he's found to avoid the Templars in the year they've been separated. "You've been _busy,"_ Karl says, a note of admiration in his voice. "I never knew half this stuff."

Anders shrugs. "It's a talent," he says, a half grin on his face. Karl's eyes glint with something as he watches Anders' mouth and Anders feels a flutter in his belly, and lower.

"I know a few places," Karl says then. "Come this way."

They end up in a room, empty but for a closet and some dusty shelves, with a high, narrow window. It looks impossible to get to, as are nearly all the windows in the tower, but Karl moves purposefully towards the wall, grinning. "If you climb up here you can get outside," Karl says, hitching his robes up and starting up on some uneven bricks. Anders starts to follow him, but there is the unmistakable sound of metal on stone that signifies a templar. "Karl!" he hisses, warning, and Karl drops down with an audible clatter.

"Fuck, we'll be caught," Karl pulls him by the hand into the closet, still giggling. "Andraste this has been fun," he whispers once they're firmly wedged inside with the door closed. "I forgot what it was like, being an apprentice. The senior mages are so _dull_ sometimes…"

Anders smirks into the darkness, wanting to respond, tell Karl how much he's missed him, but something stops him. He suddenly realises they're pressed together, very close, and he can feel the scrape of Karl's stubble on his ear and the gentle whuff of his breath against his neck. Karl is still gripping Anders' arm and the press of his fingers is _hot_ even through the robes.

"Anders?" Karl's voice is soft… hesitant in the darkness, and his fingers move slightly on Anders' arm and Anders feels his other hand creep up until it is gently brushing the skin at the neck of his robe. Anders' breath hitches - it feels different, somehow, than what he's done with the other apprentices. More intense. Karl is older, better, more handsome and Anders can't believe that he would even consider…

Before he's really sure what he's doing, Anders has lifted one hand to trace patterns on the back of Karl's neck, feeling the soft hairs there. Karl lets out a soft groan as Anders leans forward to kiss him. They're of a height, now, Anders is even a little taller, and it sends a thrill through him that _he_ might be the cause of someone like Karl's desire, a desire that is all too evident through their thin circle robes. He presses his lips to the other mage's. He's been told he's good at this, even if he's never managed to get much further without Templars interrupting and putting he and his partner on extra duties, and Karl's little needy sounds as he parts the other man's lips with his tongue seem to reinforce that assessment.

Karl starts to hitch up Anders robes and Anders almost pulls back, but he _wants_ this, he's wanted this for years and he's not going to let Karl get away again. Karl's long fingers trace a pattern across Anders' hip and dip lower, grasping his erection, and Anders can't stop his hips from bucking - it feels _so good,_ so much better than touching himself, and maker knows he's been doing enough of that lately. Karl has captured his mouth again in a kiss that muffles his groan and Anders suddenly remembers there's a _Templar_ outside and if they catch him they'll be _angry_ and it just makes it sexier and suddenly he's coming and it was _embarrassingly_ fast, but that's ok, because really, what he wants to do now is touch Karl.

Karl's lips have curved in a smile against his and Anders suppresses a desire to bite, instead he grabs Karl's upper arms and pushes him back against the wall side of the closet, making room for him to kneel in front of the older man, and lifts his robes. Karl's fingers tangle in Anders' hair as he cups the other man's cock in his palm, stroking upwards. Karl gasps. "Are you sure you want to do this…?" he manages to whisper, even though Anders can _hear_ the need in his voice. "You… "

"Yes," Anders says. He's imagined doing it often enough, practiced on his own hand, trying to think of things he would want done to _him,_ but it's different, and _better_ and as he moves his mouth forward over Karl's cock and feels the tension in his legs and the short, desperate gasps for breath as he works his tongue he knows it's worth it.

He can tell Karl is struggling for silence. His gasps are getting throatier, more forced as Anders moves. The older mage starts to guide Anders' head back and forth, gently thrusting his hips at first, until he lets out a low groan and pushes _hard_ making Anders gag and splutter as hot, bitter liquid spurts into the back of his throat.

"Sorry," Karl whispers. "But… you caught me unprepared." Anders grins and wipes his mouth, getting to his feet carefully.

"It's all right," he says. And it is. Totally all right. More than all right. _Great._ He hasn't felt like this before _ever_ and the fact that Karl presses another kiss to his mouth and pulls Anders' close to his chest, breathing deeply, running his hand through the blond strands of Anders' hair, makes it _better._

"I missed you," Karl breathes as they part.

Anders rests his forehead against Karl's not sure what to say in response. _You're not like the others,_ seems inadequate, _let's do this again sometime_ seems forward.

"I'll try to get away tomorrow," Anders says instead. "We can meet in the library?"

Karl nods. "I can teach you a few things," he says and Anders feels heat rise in his cheeks and other places.

"Do you think he's gone?" Anders whispers then. They haven't truly been paying attention to what's going on outside. It's entirely possible they'll open the door to find the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander waiting for them.

"If we weren't interrupted, they didn't know we were here," Karl says, laughing a little. "Trust me. I know. But you better go first. I'll clean up in here and see you tomorrow."

Anders reaches for the door, but looks back. It's too dark to see anything but the glint of Karl's eyes, but he leans forward any way and kisses him again. Karl responds, cupping the back of Anders' head and Anders feels warm all over.

He doesn't stop grinning all night.


	6. Separation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For six months they meet each other whenever they can. It's nearing the end of summer one night when they're sitting on the edge of the tower, outside the room with the closet where they first kissed. It's about half-way up, but the fall would still be fatal. Anders has been researching ways to slow a fall. Telekenisis spells could be manipulated for it, he is certain. Of course there are no _books_ about it and research time and private space is severely limited.

For six months they meet each other whenever they can. It's nearing the end of summer one night when they're sitting on the edge of the tower, outside the room with the closet where they first kissed. It's about half-way up, but the fall would still be fatal. Anders has been researching ways to slow a fall. Telekenisis spells could be manipulated for it, he is certain. Of course there are no _books_ about it and research time and private space is severely limited.

…Still, he didn't think he'd be trying _this_ way out of the Tower as a first choice. There are others, less dangerous that he wants to try first.

Karl seems preoccupied today.

"You know the senior enchanters all thought you were going to be made tranquil when you jumped into the lake the other week," Karl says, biting his lip.

Anders shrugs. He saw an opportunity and took it. The small pang as he left Karl and Maggie and even Finn was negligible compared to the thought that he might make it away from the Tower, back to his mother - or… no, to Denerim, to a ship, away from everything here he didn't want and never asked for.

"It was risky," Karl presses.

"Are you angry with me?"

"You know I can't be angry with you. I… I just worry that's all."

Anders looks up at his lover, to see the blue eyes clouded, the full lip caught between white teeth. Karl hugs his knees, tucked behind one of the superfluous gargoyles that dot the top of the tower (why would they need them, no one ever sees this high? unless the Tevinters who built it had levitation magic….).

"I would have taken you with me if you were there."

Karl bursts into laughter. "I would have drowned Anders. I can't swim."

A small hope he's been carrying in his chest for some time splutters and dies. If Karl can't swim, the only way the older man could come with him on one of his escapes would be in a boat.

Boats are slow and easy to spot.

"Why not?"

"I lived in the slums of Denerim, Anders. If you go swimming there you come out with six different types of interesting diseases. And for obvious reasons they don't teach us how in the tower."

Anders feels a tide of bitterness swell up at Karl's words, which isn't stemmed by Karl's next little tidbit of information.

"They're transferring a bunch of us to Kirkwall," he says hesitantly.

Anders looks at him.

"By 'a bunch of us' I'm assuming you mean you," he says. Karl shrugs again.

"Yes."

Anders looks down the Tower again. A series of force fields, if he could find a way to attach it to the wall rather than around himself… He could take one or two, grab hold of a ledge and wait for the pain to pass… heal himself if he fell too far. He'd need lyrium to replenish his mana…

"Anders?"

He rubs his eyes. "Who ordered it?"

"Greagior. The circle there lacks healers, apparently."

Anders has heard things about the Kirkwall Circle. None of them are good. A city built on the blood of slaves - the circle tower an ancient prison, the Templars harsh and unforgiving.

He looks at Karl helplessly. The last six months have been the most bearable of any of his time spent in the tower. The pleasure he's shared with Karl is secondary, he realises now, to the feeling of having a partner. Huddled together in the dark after sex they'd talk, sometimes through the night, about what was wrong with the circles, the templars.

One night, deep in the darkest hours, Karl had told him _exactly_ why he knew about Ser William and Anders had gritted his teeth and vowed revenge on the bastard, on all templars. He'd suspected, of course, but that the man could still be trusted within fifty miles of a mage child makes his blood boil.

Karl is sanguine about it. He says worse has happened to mages, is happening to them. He says being locked up is the important thing, not the beatings or the other things. He says William got more punishment than the monsters out there who do it to their own children. It doesn't make Anders want to kill him any less.

They've been foolish, let themselves get too involved. Anders highly doubts that Karl has been chosen to go entirely by chance, they've been careless a few times - Ser Hubert has dragged them out of a supply closet once and Enchanter Liora has walked in on them in an empty classroom. Casual liaisons are not a problem for most of the Templars and Enchanters, at least, not after he reached sixteen, but Anders knows if you see the same person too often there is talk.

…. and something like this happens.

"Fuck them," he says, standing up and lunging back inside. Karl follows, more slowly, as Anders carelessly jumps down from the high window, cushioning his fall with a modified forcefield. It works the way he thought it might and he allows himself a grim smile.

When Karl drops down beside him Anders presses him into the wall and kisses him roughly, hands grasping at robes, impatiently pulling them out of the way so he can touch bare skin. Karl gasps and tips his head backwards, letting Anders' mouth reach his neck. Anders isn't gentle, biting and nipping his way all the way to the man's collarbone, leaving marks that he knows Karl won't bother to heal in his wake. In the meantime his hand finds Karl, already hard, and he coats his fingers with a grease spell and brings the man to completion with only a few short tugs.

A few minutes later and Karl is bent over one of the dusty tables, Anders rapidly pounding into him with a desperation he knows is born of the inability to voice how he feels. If he lets those words out, acknowledges what they're going to lose when Karl is gone, it will become unbearable as well as intolerable to be stuck here without him.

He collapses over Karl when he is done, panting, a tear leaking out behind one closed lid.

"I'll write to you," Karl pants out. Anders runs a hand over Karl's back and plants a kiss on his spine.

"I know."

He will try the forcefield escape the day after Karl goes. He tells himself he'll find a way to get to Kirkwall and break him out - find him on the road, even and free Karl and all the mages being transferred. He's gotten good at making these sorts of promises to himself. As though the massive contingent of Templars that will be accompanying them aren't going to be a problem, as though the forcefield trick won't backfire on him and break all his limbs, as though there's a possibility, even the smallest one, that if they manage to escape and be together they'll have something resembling a normal life…

They're in danger of being discovered every second they stay there, curled around each other, cold air on bare skin making them shiver but neither of them makes a move to go. The moment is too precious.

There are lies, and there are bandages for the soul.


	7. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maggie is refreshing, after the knock backs he's received out in the world. Dragged back practically by the scruff of his neck (Rylock _again_ he's beginning to suspect the woman _asks_ for the privilege of hunting him down) she is the first to knock on the side of his bunk (he'd been moved again, he'd have to get his stuff back from Finn). He sits up, grinning through the fading bruises (his mana is just returning) and Maggie gives him the sly look that she's been cultivating since he met her. The one designed to make every apprentice and harrowed mage in the tower _desperate_ to find out if that graffiti is actually true…

Maggie is refreshing, after the knock backs he's received out in the world. Dragged back practically by the scruff of his neck (Rylock _again_ he's beginning to suspect the woman _asks_ for the privilege of hunting him down) she is the first to knock on the side of his bunk (he'd been moved again, he'd have to get his stuff back from Finn). He sits up, grinning through the fading bruises (his mana is just returning) and Maggie gives him the sly look that she's been cultivating since he met her. The one designed to make every apprentice and harrowed mage in the tower _desperate_ to find out if that graffiti is actually true…

"You promised, Anders," she says. "And Irving's teaching right now. I passed a classroom and saw him."

"Maggie, Maggie, Maggie," he grins, sitting up on his bed. "I'm tired and there's this bed here, all soft and comfortable… we could…"

She cocks an eyebrow at him and taps her foot. He's always amazed that such a short woman can be so intimidating. Mind you, he has seen her completely obliterate every training dummy in a practice room with one ice spell, so perhaps it has more to do with that than the fact that she is obviously cross with him.

"You. Promised."

He grins. "I never break my promises," he swings his legs over the edge of his narrow bed and jumps up, grabbing her hand and leaving the room.

They have to be discreet. Luckily, of all the mages in the Tower, they are probably the two who know it best. Years of searching for exits on his part. On Maggie's… well she knows every nook and cranny out of Templar sight, and a few more besides, for reasons of her own.

The route to Irving's office isn't well guarded - the senior enchanters are… mainly trustworthy according to Greagior, otherwise they wouldn't be senior enchanters. When they reach the ornate door Maggie is giggling behind him as he searches his hair for his lockpicks. They _still_ don't search him there, the stupid buggers. It's the military buzz cuts all these Templars have. They don't think of it as somewhere to put things…

Of course the picks are no use to him if he has his hands bound in anti-magic bracers behind his back, which is what Rylock always does to him. Pervy bitch. He's certain she only does it so he can't relieve himself without help.

He doesn't need to be having thoughts about Rylock now, not with Maggie here.

The lock is stupidly simple, and Irving's desk is even more comfortable than he thought it would be. Maggie thumps his back and urges him to go faster, and they let themselves make as much noise as they want - the thick door is firmly closed and re-locked and Anders has spent enough time with his ear to it to know that you can't hear anything through it.

Afterwards they lie amidst the papers, gasping for breath and laughing.

"Do you think we can find any information on our phylacteries?" Maggie asks. "If we can find where they keep them we could…"

Anders looks at her, cocking his eyebrow. "Let's look!"

They jump up, filled with purpose, and rummage through the papers on the massive desk. There are locks in the room that he _can't_ open, he finds. A massive chest at the back of the room which he is _certain_ holds more than just books, even has magic dampening wards on it. Obviously Irving is aware that the locks on the Tower doors (the ones without Templar guards any way) are lacking in quality.

"Fuck," Maggie says eventually, looking frustrated and annoyed, far more than she should be given she'd been howling in pleasure only a few minutes previously. They've been in here too long, Irving will be back any minute. And they haven't found anything.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair. "I'll try to find out what's keeping the locks closed on that chest," he says. He is the expert on locks, after all. "We can come back."

She nods. "Not as though _I'm_ going anywhere." He winces at the accusation in her tone. But trying to get out with _two_ is more than twice as difficult as _one._ He doesn't tell her that most of his escape attempts have simply been taking advantage of the moment. If he stopped to bring his friends, he'd never get out at all. And if they're caught Maggie has a much greater chance of being made tranquil than he does, given her healing abilities leave much to be desired…

They let themselves back out and relock the door. Anders has made certain to leave one somewhat damp paper in the centre of Irving's chair. Hopefully it will stick to the backside of the old bastard's robes when he sits down.

Finn and Jowan are in the library, playing that card game they always play together that the apprentices all seem to love. Maggie smirks at him as they approach the table, but Jowan simply rolls his eyes and continues looking at his cards. Finn waves cheerily to Anders, completely oblivious to their slightly flushed cheeks and disheveled robes. Anders sometimes wonders if the boy has any idea about girls at _all._

"Greagior was looking for you," Finn says. "Came up asking after you about twenty minutes ago."

Anders tenses. There aren't any reasons for the Knight Commander to be after him. Aside from…

"Anders, _there_ you are," it's Ser William. Anders tenses and turns, eyes narrowing. The bastard had been reassigned back to the tower after one of his charges killed Harley. The poor kid was raving and possessed by the time William dragged him in, had to be... dealt with, as the Templars put it. The rest of the apprentices don't need to be told to connect the dots, especially when it becomes obvious that William is never let into the apprentice level quarters. That he's even in the library is a stretch, although at least the library is open and mostly full of other mages.

"Ser William," Anders says, as politely as he can manage. Maggie is glaring at the Templar, Finn and Jowan are judiciously looking elsewhere. "What can I do for you?"

"The First Enchanter wants to see you," William growls out.

Anders sighs and kisses Maggie on the cheek. "Just me?"

"Of course just you, you idiot robe. Move it."

Maggie looks a little worried, but it's unlikely that their tryst has been discovered so soon. Anders shrugs and turns to go with William.

He walks a good distance away from the Templar. The man still makes him shudder. He can remember the looks he'd given Anders, on that first trip, remembered what Karl had told him, and it was all he could do not to blast the fucker with lightning.

Wouldn't help. _Wouldn't help._

Make him feel good though.

He doesn't get time, unfortunately. It only takes a few moments for Anders to realise where exactly they're headed and he swallows suddenly as they start to ascend the second flight of stairs.

The harrowing chamber.

He is gripped with fear as the door opens. No one knows where the Templars perform the Rite of Tranquility. It is possible they do it right here. It's possible they could do it in a couple of seconds, that the brand itself could be on him before he can do anything to stop it. But…

Irving is standing next to a basin of Lyrium - Greagior next to him. He approaches, looking as formal as the old bugger ever does. Anders tenses, then tries to look around to his back to see if there's anything stuck to the man's behind.

 _Mustn't have sat at his desk yet,_ he thinks.

"Magic exists to serve man, not to rule over him," the Knight Commander says. "Thus spoke the prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin."

 _To the edge, not over it,_ Anders thinks, shifting from foot to foot.

"Your magic is a gift. But it is also a curse. For demons of the dream world, the fade, are drawn to you…"

Anders doesn't bother to repress his yawn. "Are you going to brand me or bore me to death first?" he says.

"Anders!" Irving's normally kindly voice is harsh and accusing. Anders raises an eyebrow.

"Look, if you're going to Harrow me, just do it. Spare me the Chantry bullshit. If you're going to _tranquil_ me…" _I'm almost certain I can burst my own heart before they hit me with a smite…_

He has been thinking about how to do it in far too much detail lately.

"You can't _seriously_ think this mage deserves Harrowing, Knight Commander," William's voice is dripping with hatred.

"We have discussed this, William," Greagior says sharply.

"Ser Templar, you know that the Harrowing is offered to all mages who are deemed strong enough to endure it," Irving says, softly. "No matter their… attitude."

Anders cocks his eyebrow at the first enchanter. This is news to him, and something he'll certainly be passing on to Maggie. Then he grins and claps his hands together.

"Well then? If that's the case, shall we get started?"

Irving's lips twitch and Anders feels a surge of hatred that is surprising in its intensity. All the people in this room are complicit in his captivity, but Irving is the representation of everything he hates about the Circle. An assimilated mage. Trained and chained to do the Chantry's bidding.

Irving beckons. "Come here child," he says. Anders swallows, and for once, does as he's told.


	8. Punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When he's dragged in front of Greagior again he knows it's going to be worse this time because Irving isn't with him. Instead the new Templar - the nice one - the one who has the crush on Maggie (and isn't THAT going to end well) is standing behind the Knight Commander's desk trying to look all official and failing miserably. Despite the anxiety crawling in his gut he puts on his most charming grin through the bruises that Rylock and her cronies have given him. Irving might not be here but there's no harm in trying.

When he's dragged in front of Greagior again he knows it's going to be worse this time because Irving isn't with him. Instead the new Templar - the nice one - the one who has the crush on Maggie (and isn't THAT going to end well) is standing behind the Knight Commander's desk trying to look all official and failing miserably. Despite the anxiety crawling in his gut he puts on his most charming grin through the bruises that Rylock and her cronies have given him. Irving might not be here but there's no harm in trying.

"Anders this has gone on long enough," Greagior says.

"Really?" Anders says. "Enough is such an absolute term." _It hasn't gone on long enough,_ he thinks. _Not until they stop finding me. Or I'm dead._

He remembers the glowing vial Rylock had been holding in her hands when they finally found him. If only he could have smashed it… if only he knew where they were keeping it…

"Your attitude may amuse Irving, young man, but it will serve you no purpose here," Greagior says.

"Did you finally tranquil the old bugger?" Anders says. "He's such an obvious danger to the welfare of mages. We all turn into abominations to stop ourselves from dying of boredom."

The young Templar gasps in horror. "You shall _not_ talk to the Knight Commander like that!"

"Peace, Cullen," Greagior lifts a hand.

"So what's it to be this time, Knight Commander?" Anders says, shifting from foot to foot. He's bored. He's back. Maggie might be free, he's missed her. There are things he could be doing. "Six months pot scrubbing? Lectures? A lashing?"

They'd done that, once, when Greagior and Irving had both been away. He still remembers the pain of it. But that had been after his escape to Denerim, and he can't help but think it was worth it. A certain employee at the Pearl and a very memorable night involving lightning and body shots would keep him warm for a year at least.

He really _really_ hopes Maggie is about.

"I'm afraid not, Anders."

"You can't make me tranquil," he points out.

Greagior sighs deeply. "No, we cannot," he says. "But you are too much of a danger to be allowed back into the general population of mages, Anders. You spread sedition, and encourage rebellion. You are a bad influence on the apprentices - a worse one on the Harrowed mages."

"Finally going to send me away then?"

"No. Much as it pains me to lose a healer of your calibre, Anders, you'll go into solitary until such time as you learn some respect for your position."

Anders blinks. "Solitary?"

"Yes."

The word has no meaning for him. "What, you're going to lock me up… on my _own?_ For how long?"

"As long as it takes for you to see reason, Anders."

The rage that takes him is all the more fierce for being unexpected. "See _reason?"_ He leans forward, his hands on the desk. Cullen puts his hand on his sword, but Anders doesn't care. "You mean until some demon decides to possess me and your boy here gets to cut my head off?"

"You passed your Harrowing, Anders," Greagior says, shooting a warning look at Cullen. "You know how to resist demons."

He blinks, shakes his head, wants to fireball both of them, but knows this will only end in his death and singed paperwork. "Just send me to fucking Aeonar, why don't you," he mutters.

"This is your other option," Greagior says. "But Irving spoke against it. _He_ believes you mean no harm Anders."

"Where is _he_ today then?"

"With students, Anders. He has other duties beyond coping with your willfulness."

"No, of course. That's _your_ job." Greagior is pointedly looking at Anders' hands, which are close to fisting in the papers on Greagior's desk. Anders raises an eyebrow at him for a moment before deliberately lifting them off and dusting them on his tattered robes. They haven't even bothered to let him wash before dragging him in here. Bastards.

"Cullen will escort you down to your cell, Anders."

"What, I'm going _now?"_

"I see no reason to delay. Do you?"

"But I…" _haven't seen Maggie or Finn, haven't checked on Mr Wiggums, haven't had the opportunity to boast about how far I got…._

 _Stupid idiot, Anders. That's the whole point._ "Right. I see."

It's the middle of the night. The mages are all asleep or doing something they wouldn't want interrupted. Anders isn't going to get to see _anyone._ A small ball of panic starts in the middle of his chest at the thought that he might not see anyone for a very, very long time. It is perhaps this that makes him exclaim in pleasure and stop in the corridor when he sees the familiar ginger swipe of tail that is Mr Wiggums, despite Cullen's warning hand on his shoulder, despite the magic dampening bracers on his wrists.

"Kitty! You came to welcome me back," he exclaims as the cat rubs against his hand. He's not a big cat, Mr Wiggums, but he's strong, and much, much better at avoiding the boots of templars since he healed him all those years ago.

"We don't have time for this, mage," Cullen hisses between his teeth.

Anders ignores him and ruffles Wiggums' ears. The cat purrs and buts his head against his hand and Anders swallows, hard, trying to stop a sudden attack of tears. Eventually Cullen loses patience and shoves him, hard, in the shoulder. Mr Wiggums, bless him, hisses at the Templar viciously, and Cullen steps back in alarm. Anders finds it in him to laugh then.

"Maker's breath, man, if a hissing cat frightens you you'll _never_ be able to deal with an abomination."

"Shut up, mage."

"I have a name," Anders says mildly, as Cullen reaches down to haul him to his feet. Mr Wiggums watches them go, tail swishing. Anders wonders if he'll see the animal again.

They get to the basement and a small corridor with series of blank oak doors. The doors have slits in them, big enough to admit a tray of food. Anders swallows. They're serious about this. He's not to come out. _At all._

"Anyone else down here?" he asks.

"Not at present, mage," Cullen says, and the boy looks a little frightened now as he fumbles with keys. It's obvious he's never had to put anyone in these cells before.

There's a skittering sound and Anders shudders briefly. "Looks like I'm not going to be entirely alone any way," he tries to joke, but the sound falls flat.

Cullen opens the second door _why the second? what's wrong with the first?_ and motions for Anders to go in.

Anders looks at him. He could fight, he supposes. He could attack Cullen and be smited and dumped unceremoniously into the middle of the room, kicked a few times and left. Cullen looks like he expects it, one hand is hovering over his sword hilt and his face is set and hard, despite the underlying fear, but Anders knows it's not going to change things. He's here for the long haul. He's going to have to find a way to get out, and the sooner he starts thinking about it the sooner he'll figure out a way.

It's hard to think with your head bruised and aching from templar kicks.

Cullen shoves him in. There's a cot, not long enough for Anders' tall frame. A grate in the far corner covering what Anders cringes to realise is his toilet. There's no window and the light filtering through the door from the corridor is negligible. "You'll get food and water daily. There'll be enough for washing once a week. Greagior has said you can have one hour exercise a day. There'll be a sentinel guard at your door all hours - a Templar at the end of the corridor as well. He can't hear you from here, so don't bother trying to call to him."

Cullen picks up the bucket in the corner of the room and turns to go.

"Wait… I don't get _light?"_ Cullen looks at him, face carefully blank.

"I wasn't informed so, no."

Anders plucks at the ruins of his robes. "New clothes? A blanket? Do they want me to _freeze_ to death?"

Cullen's eyes are wide and desperate now. He wants to be away from here, but Anders isn't going to let him without answers.

"I suspect you'll get those, yes," Cullen says. "Greagior didn't tell me, Anders."

It's the first time the Templar has used Anders' name.

"How long have you been here, Cullen?" Anders asks, his eyes narrowing, brain working. It's possible the only way out of this is through a sympathetic ear. Probably best to start trying to find one.

"I have to go," Cullen says.

"Wait…"

But the young Templar is already out the door. "I'll ask about the clothes and the blankets," he says as the door closes. It takes a _lot_ of willpower for Anders not to rush to the door and shout through the tiny slit for Cullen to come back.

The thought that his stupid face will be the last human he sees for… however long it takes for one of the other Templars to take him out without their helmet on is almost too much for him to bear.

He sits gingerly on the mattress, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. Almost unconsciously he finds he has pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. There is a flare of magical energy and he realises that the sentinel has been activated. It lends a tiny bit more light to the room - possibly all the light he is going to get, and he heaves in a breath that is almost a sob.

A few minutes - or hours later he hears a faint scritching at the door. Wondering if he's already going mad, he goes to the slit and pushes it up, then falls backwards as a squirming, struggling, orange mass of fur pushes through the impossibly small gap and lands on his chest.

He is crying in relief as Mr Wiggums licks his face.


	9. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He can cross the cell lengthways in two longish strides, sideways in one short one. There is a ventilation hole near the ceiling over the door that lets in the soft glow from the ever-present sentinel outside.

He can cross the cell lengthways in two longish strides, sideways in one short one. There is a ventilation hole near the ceiling over the door that lets in the soft glow from the ever-present sentinel outside.

It is the only light, save when the flap that covers the slit in the door is opened to deliver his meals. The Templars who bring them are not allowed to speak to him, but Anders is always sure to deliver a few well thought out insults whenever they arrive. Thinking up new and inventive phrases take up a good whack of time.

 _Calling Templars idiots would be an insult to stupid people everywhere._

 _Your parents took one look at you and pledged you to the order straight away. They didn't want you breeding._

 _I'd love to know how old you are, but I'm pretty sure you can't count that high._

 _If your sword was the same size as your cock you wouldn't be able to break the skin on a mouse._ That one had earned him his meal flung through the slit and all over the floor.

It had been worth it. At least he knows for certain the Templars are there, and listening. It would have been intolerable to discover they weren't.

Mr Wiggams visits, usually right after meal times. The cat isn't desperately interested in the thin gruel and bread that is Anders' usual fare, but every now and then, perhaps recognizing that malnutrition isn't how they want him to die, he is given a small portion of meat or fish and he always saves a morsel for the animal.

He speaks to the cat, his voice sounding hollow and odd to him in the echoey space that is his prison. He asks him how Maggie is doing - if Jowan has stopped being such a whiny arse, whether Alim has managed to progress past rudimentary healing skills, if Finn has got himself a girlfriend.

On good days he imagines the cat answers.

On bad days he does nothing but cradle the orange ball of fur in his arms and cry, breathing in the scent and warmth of another living creature.

He tries keeping track of the days by scratching marks in the wall - but his memory plays tricks on him after a few weeks. He can't remember, sometimes, if he's scratched one mark or two. He can't remember if he is supposed to do it after his meal or before… or whether it counts as a mark when they give him new water… or…

… the days bleed into each other.

His dreams are dark and dangerous and he sleeps in fits and starts, constantly afraid of demons, or himself or something unnamed that ….after a while he recognises as madness.

How do you define madness when you have nothing to compare it with? Is he mad? Has he already been possessed by something? Is he just an abomination sitting and growling in the middle of his cell while the Tower burns around him?

Mr Wiggums wouldn't snuggle up next to a demon, would he? Or maybe Mr Wiggums _is_ a demon… that thought has him gasping in panic more than once, that the cat could be a manifestation of the thing he needs to avoid the most, when the cat is the only thing that makes life bearable.

Some days he searches the cell frantically, looking for something, anything sharp enough to pierce his skin, not for blood magic, no, never for that, but for a way out that doesn't involve more and more waiting, more and more silence, dear holy Maker the _silence…_

The bedding on his mattress could conceivably be twisted into a rope, but _here_ there is nothing for him to use to tie it to. The thought of hanging himself makes him shudder with revulsion in any case. He is too good a healer not to know how difficult and painful hanging is as a death. He is a coward, he fully admits it to himself, but when he dies he wants it to be fast. Preferably without his knowledge and no pain.

He closes his eyes sometimes and can _hear_ the creaking swing of Enchanter Marian's corpse.

That sound is almost worse than the occasional, just out of reach whispers he can hear when he's not entirely certain if he is awake or sleeping. The whispers that promise him… something, and the fact that sometimes he is tempted to find out what that something is.

He clings to the routine of meals like a lifeline. Food arrives. Insult is delivered. Wiggums comes. The food is enough for a day and he spaces it out and eats it a little at a time, trying to judge the passage of time by how hungry he feels. He sleeps. He wakes. The cycle starts again.

He tries to exercise, push-ups and sit-ups on the floor, running on the spot, but it is difficult. He is weak with malnutrition and interrupted sleep, but the last thing he wants is to be unable to take an opportunity to escape because he is unfit.

The swim across Lake Calenhad, he knows from experience, is long and arduous.

Magic is denied him and he is surprised at how much this hurts. He has been without it before, of course. On his trips back to the tower, bruised and beaten and drained, his hands manacled, but here it is different. The cell itself blocks his power. He has his hands but cannot cast.

One day, they change his guard.

"Your mother sucked cock for the entire Imperial Chantry!" he shouts, one morning, as the food is shoved through the slot.

"Well, your mother cried like a baby when we took you, didn't she Anders? Although not as much as when I went back and nailed her to her marriage bed," the voice is soft and sibilant and horrifically familiar, yet Anders finds himself gasping for breath and pushing himself into the door, clawing at it, hoping with all his will for more words, more proof of another human being. "And your father took the coin we gave him for betraying you to us with a smile as he kicked your backside on your way out the door."

Ser William.

When Wiggums comes Anders is still sitting slumped against the door, food forgotten. Of all the human voices he wanted to hear…

He buries his fingers in the soft fur and cries a little, then, from relief mostly. Because if he is mad he would not have imagined Ser William talking to him, if he is mad he would have imagined Karl, or Maggie, or his mother, or anyone in the real world who had ever shown him a morsel of kindness. Cullen, even. Irving, at a pinch.

Ser William has given him hope.

It is a few days later that he starts stripping it systematically away from him.


	10. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Three of them are dead. He doesn't even need his healing sense to work that out. The smell is sickening, but he can't bring himself to feel sad for it, not with the cooling corpse of Wiggums lying next to them._

_Three of them are dead. He doesn't even need his healing sense to work that out. The smell is sickening, but he can't bring himself to feel sad for it, not with the cooling corpse of Wiggums lying next to them._

 _The fourth is whimpering in pain and Anders wants, so badly to leave him to die, but he knows if he does he will be branded maleficar and when they hunt him down, as they are sure to do, he will be killed on sight._

 _He doesn't want to die, he finds._

 _So he approaches Cullen, who tries pitifully to skitter away from him, burned as he is. Anders shushes him as he would one of the youngest apprentices, holding up his hands and calling forth magic. He needs Cullen to live. He needs Cullen to tell the others what Anders did._

The first thing William does is withhold his food. He only works this out because Wiggums arrives one day and the food is not there. The cat is confused, but not as confused as Anders. He thinks at first that Wiggums has come early and dismisses it - he can't expect the cat to keep to a routine, even though it has become one of the threads that tie Anders to sanity.

His stomach tells him otherwise, however.

When the food finally comes Wiggums has departed and Anders is pacing his cell. He runs to the slot, hoping for another comment from William, but it arrives silently. He inspects it closely, but it is the same as it always is, thin gruel, a piece of bread peppered with seeds and a strip of dried meat.

When he takes his first bite of the gruel he swears. It's over-salted to the point where it seems to suck the moisture from his mouth, and if he eats it he will undoubtably end up finishing his water too soon. He has a choice, then, to be hungry or thirsty.

He chooses hungry. He is a healer, he knows thirst kills you more quickly.

It is only the beginning.

 _Once Cullen is healed Anders lets him sink into unconsciousness, then busily strips William of his armour. They are much the same size and Anders manages to dress himself relatively quickly. It is not the first time he has donned Templar armour, he is familiar, even after all this time, with the buckles._

 _The armour is scorched and dented and Anders is counting on his own voice being hoarse and unrecognisable as he clatters up the stairs to the main hall._

The routine that has been pinning the shredded pieces of his mind together is ripped from him. Food arrives when he is still full from his last meal, or doesn't come until he feels like his stomach will digest itself from hunger. Sometimes it is heavily salted, sometimes more disgusting things have been done to it in order to make it inedible. One day a great, steaming pile of faeces greets him instead of his gruel and he gags. It is still warm.

William is careful never to interfere enough that Anders starves, but Anders knows that if it goes on long enough this is a possibility.

One day, when the food is blessedly normal he cries out to William to tell him why he does these things.

The only reply he gets is a dry chuckle.

The flash of rage is intense and uncontrollable and when he comes back to himself his food is plastered over the wall of his cell and Wiggums is a hissing ball of claws and teeth, screeching at the door as if the cat could blast it from its hinges through the force of his will.

Anders is shaking and can't remember what he's done. He is hungry and exhausted and filthy and fundamentally _sick_ of it. He approaches the cat warily, frightened he might have hurt the animal, but Wiggums turns, hackles smoothing, and calmly jumps to his shoulder, purring and rubbing his head against the mess of beard that covers his face.

 _It is the middle of the night, there are only the Templars on door duty. "A demon!" he chokes out as he stumbles towards them. "Sweet Holy Andraste - the prisoner - a rage demon! You have to help them!" The guards are stupid. They run, without asking him any details, and Anders, staggering a little under the unfamiliar weight of plate mail, fumbles with the doors._

 _He nearly cries then, because they're locked and he can't open them and he'll be caught and killed before he's seen the sky again._

The whispering gets louder and more insistent. It speaks of revenge. When he dreams, he dreams of templars burning, screaming and begging for mercy that he does not give.

He stops wondering if he is mad. He stops caring when he loses his temper and rages at the door. He stops worrying that he'll hurt Wiggums, instead when the cat visits he spouts vitriol about what he will do to the Templars if he ever gets out of the cell, how he will murder them, feast on their blood and rip their flesh to shreds.

When the rage demon comes he is ready to accept whatever price it asks for the opportunity to take his revenge. But a small, velvet paw pats his cheek and he is distracted, suddenly, by his friend's soft purr and he remembers why it _isn't_ worth it.

They will kill him, and he will have achieved nothing. They will kill him, and no one will know what they did to him.

They will kill him, and he will have lost.

The demon shouts. The demon is stronger than he thought. The demon cannot force itself into Anders, so instead it forces itself into the only other mortal body near.

 _He is leaning against the door, sobbing, when another Templar comes up beside him._

" _The door guards said you were attacked by a demon!" Carroll says. "Are you all right?"_

 _The light of hope seems to burn through the slit in the visor that keeps his identity secret._

" _Carroll, I need to get outside… please… just… away from what I saw…"_

" _Oh. You don't have your key?" the man is the stupidest Templar in the Tower. It is common knowledge._

" _The demon…"_

" _Sure, fine, I'll unlock it for you… William isn't it?"_

" _Yes."_

The demon's heat is enough to melt the locks on the door. As soon as the sigils are breached, Anders feels his magic rush back to him and he sobs aloud in relief even as he crafts the cold spell that will slow the demon enough to let him escape.

Before he can cast, however, there is the clank of Templar armour and William rushes in - of course, they have been waiting for this - but the templar is confused to see both Anders _and_ the demon and the confusion costs him his life. As William burns the sentinel's high pitched warning shriek erupts and Anders realises there will be more templars any second. The demon turns on the sentinel first and consumes it in an aura of fire, even as Anders desperately casts, freezing it in place. Three more Templars are there then, and _damn their stupidity_ they smite _him_ and cleanse the area, not realising that it is _his_ spell that has stopped them from being killed outright on their arrival.

 _He strips the armour from his body desperately, leaving the pieces in the grass which he feels in his toes. It is summer, thank the maker. The swim will not kill him from cold, at least._

 _If it is summer then he has been confined for at least a year. It's possible he has been confined for twenty, truly, he has no way of knowing._

 _He plunges into the cold water of the lake, striking out for shore the way he has so many times before this. It has never felt so good._

He staggers and falls, watching helplessly as what-once-was-Wiggums roars and plunges fists of fire into the first two templars killing them instantly. The third staggers back, and Anders realises from the babbling words of the chant spilling from his lips that it is Cullen. Desperately, he calls on his last breath of mana. Desperately he shoots ice and then lightning at the demon. Cullen screams as a burst of flame engulfs him but it is the dying gasp of the demon and Anders watches it diminish and dissolve back into the limp form of the animal who had saved more than his life.

He begins to weep.

 _The Blight claws at Ferelden and Anders desperately wants to get away, but so does everyone, it seems and in the end he finds it is easier to stay unnoticed as an apostate in a world where healers are more valuable than coin. When Rylock's cronies finally catch him, he has experienced nearly three full years of relative freedom, but he is still bitter, still angry, still certain there must be a better way. It won't be him who finds it. He will die before he goes back into that cell. He knows there will be an opportunity to make certain of this, and he resolves to take it._

 _Instead, as he sits in his cell contemplating the best way to end his own life, darkspawn attack. An emmissary's spell frees him from his manacles, and perhaps… just perhaps when he shoots fire at the darkspawn he doesn't aim particularly carefully. He doesn't use his healing to stop the screams and the burning when he can. It would be a waste of mana, he reasons. He doesn't know how many darkspawn are out there. He can't be certain these men, who have been kicking him and taunting him with what will happen when he gets back to the Tower, will respond to healing magic in any case._

 _Perhaps, just perhaps, he grins a feral, satisfied grin as he sees the last of them fall._

 _Then there is a sad, weary elf who has stepped straight out of his past and become a hero of epic proportions, who offers him freedom in a form more permanent than anything he has ever contemplated before. It is an offer he cannot refuse, even should he want to._

 _Years later, after the mess that is Kirkwall and the revolution that follows, people will say this was the first step on his path. He knows they are wrong._

 _The first step was taken when he was twelve years old, watching his freedom be taken from him while a man who should have fought to protect him shook with fear._


End file.
